


We Never Go Out Of Style

by Chash



Series: Charity Drive 2018 [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 22:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15672435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke is generally pretty good at her job. As an online stylist, all she has to do is figure out what her clients want, and most of them are pretty simple.Bellamy Blake, though. He's a challenge.





	We Never Go Out Of Style

**Author's Note:**

> For [trainlikeawinchester](http://trainlikeawinchester.tumblr.com)! Inspired by how I am very bad as a StitchFix client, but live in hope that someday I will be better.

Clarke knows a lot of things about Bellamy Blake, sight unseen. That's how it works, when her entire knowledge of someone comes from an online profile. She knows his name, has access to his date of birth and address, has his height, weight, and measurements pretty much memorized. And she should, in theory, know a lot about the kind of clothes he likes. That's her job, after all; she's supposed to be styling this guy, finding clothes that fit into his personal style profile. It's what she knows about most of her regular ModBox clients--Martha Addison, likes floral prints and empire waists, Rachel Williams, actually does like jeans, was just buying the wrong styles, really loves accessories--but Bellamy Blake is her white whale, the one she just cannot figure out.

Most of what she knows about him is what _does not_ fit into his style profile, which increasingly feels like everything. After six boxes, Clarke only knows what Bellamy Blake dislikes, which is so much that she is genuinely shocked he can dress himself.

"Maybe he _can't_ ," says Jasper. "Maybe he's naked all the time, and you're letting him down."

"Are you even allowed to ask us about this?" Monty adds. "Doesn't this violate stylist-client privilege?"

That makes her smile, which is appreciated, given her mood. In a way, there's nothing _wrong_ with failing to style someone, as long as they don't leave the service, and Bellamy hasn't done that yet. But Clarke prides herself on her ability to do her job, to figure out what people want and find them pieces that suit them, and it bothers her that she hasn't been able to do it for him. And if she keeps on being unable to do it, ModBox will assign Bellamy to another stylist, which is, again, fine _in theory_ , but if she loses the account, then she'll never figure out what he wants.

It might be weird to be competitive about picking clothing for someone, but it makes her better at her job, so it's probably fine.

"I've worked in hospitals enough to know all about HIPAA," Clarke says. "I haven't actually told you his name or any demographic information, so it's fine. You don't have any way to identify him."

"Unless he actually is naked all the time," Jasper says. "That would stand out."

Monty is looking thoughtful, though. "He always keeps one thing, right?"

"Sometimes begrudgingly, but yeah. I think he doesn't want to feel like he's wasting the $20 styling fee."

"Another victim of the sunk-cost fallacy. He should probably just give up entirely."

"Well, he's signed up for at least one more box," Clarke says, with a sigh. "So I have at least one more chance."

"You still get paid the same no matter what, right?" asks Jasper. "You're not going to get fired because one asshole is hard to please."

"No. But I still want to figure him out."

"Clarke is in an intense competition with every one of her clients," Monty says. He tends to get her better than Jasper does. "If she can't find the right clothes for naked guy, then she loses."

"Obviously," says Jasper. "And she has to leave her weird job in shame."

Clarke tries to scowl, but it's hard. She had her reservations about moving in with two guys, especially two childhood friends, whose dynamic was already so set, but it's actually a pretty good living situation. She can be a little too serious; it's nice to have people around to crack jokes. "I know it's not actually a big deal. But--I really want to figure this out. He clearly _wants_ this to work, and I want it to work for him."

"You know, if you told us his name, in direct violation of clothing HIPAA, we could just stalk him for you," says Jasper. "You can stalk anyone on the internet."

"I know his name and address and a bunch of other vital information," says Clarke. "I could internet-stalk him myself." 

Although she's not telling Monty and Jasper this, he's actually local, so she could even non-internet stalk him. Sometimes, she'll see a guy on the train dressed in slacks and a button-down and wonder if that's him, if she should study him for clues. It's a weird thing to think, but, if she's honest, most of her job is pretty simple. After one or two boxes, she gets a pretty good sense of her clients, and then it's just finding the clothes, which is usually the easy part. Bellamy is memorable because he's a challenge, and while she likes a challenge, she'd like to feel like she could win it.

Stalking him still feels like a bridge too far, which is why it's so lucky that she just meets him a week later.

It's Monty who brings her into actual contact with him, although neither he nor Clarke knows that's what's happening. Monty got a new job a few weeks ago and they're having a happy hour, which he wants to go to but doesn't want to go to alone, and since Jasper has a date, Clarke figures acting as moral support shouldn't be that hard.

"How often does this happen?" she asks, as they walk over. "Am I going to need to come a lot?"

"Once a month. I'm hoping it'll be fun and I'll enjoy it? But if it's not I can probably just do every other one. But I'm the new guy, I'm hoping I can trick them into thinking I'm not an anti-social nerd for at least a month or two."

"Why bother?" she teases. "Just lean into it."

"There's a guy," he admits. "Not in my department, but he's friends with my supervisor, so I know they're both coming, and I figure I have an excuse to talk to him. Right?"

"Wow, so I'm actually wingmanning you?"

"Don't worry, I know you're bad at it."

"Is your supervisor into women? I could flirt with them."

"I think he is. Miller's definitely gay, but I think Bellamy is straight or bi."

Clarke has read the phrase _blood runs cold_ before, and she always knew instinctively what it would feel like, but this is the first time she can remember experiencing the feeling herself. "Miller's your crush?"

"Yeah."

"And Bellamy is your supervisor."

"Yup. He's pretty cool, I think he might just be coming to this so I don't feel out-of-place. Which is kind of funny, if you think about it, like--we could both just not come. But I want to fit in, and Miller was definitely peer-pressuring Bellamy, so everyone's coming whether we like it or not."

Clarke smiles, but it's vague, most of her brain occupied with the name _Bellamy_. Obviously, it could be someone else, but there can't be _that_ many. And she did know he was local. There's no reason to rule out the possibility, which means that she's left in the odd position of potentially meeting someone she already knows, in some awkward way, who knows nothing about her. Clients don't get information on their stylists; Bellamy Blake's only experience of her is as an anonymous entity that keeps on sending him clothes he doesn't like.

Then again, it's not like meeting him in person is actually a problem. It's not a conflict of interest to talk to one of her clients, especially not coincidentally. If anything, it's an opportunity. She can see what he actually _likes_ to wear.

The happy hour is at a bar between their apartment and Monty's office, and it's not that crowded yet when they arrive. There's a gaggle of people around a big table, and one of them waves to Monty, an attractive guy with curly black hair and hipster glasses, wearing a sturdy off-white button down.

"That's Bellamy, my supervisor," he tells her, and her stomach flips. "The guy next to him on his phone is Miller. Well, Nate, but we have like five Nates so he's Miller. Even though we also have a lot of Millers. No one could really explain that one."

"Got it." She wets her lips. "Is this going to be weird? Does everyone bring friends, or is it just me?"

"Bellamy said it was fine," he says, dismissive, and starts over to the table before she can object any further. There aren't two open seats together and close to Bellamy and Miller, so Clarke takes the one next to Bellamy, leaving the one next to Miller for Monty. She _is_ a wingman, after all.

It's definitely not about Bellamy.

He looks surprised, but not upset. "Hi. I assume you're not Monty's friend Jasper."

"No, I'm his other roommate. Clarke."

He offers his hand. "Bellamy."

She shakes, but before she can figure out what to say, Monty asks, "Clarke, you want a drink?"

"Cider, whatever's on tap."

"Got it."

It's a blessing, keeping Monty out of the conversation. Especially when Miller goes after him. She smiles at Bellamy. "Awkward question, but--Bellamy Blake?"

His eyebrows go up. "Yeah. Why?"

"I'm, um--I'm actually your ModBox stylist?"

For a second, he just stares, clearly taken completely by surprise, but then he starts laughing. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry."

It's not the reply she was expecting. "Sorry?"

He runs a hand through his messy hair, giving her a sheepish smile. He's a few years older than she is, but right now he looks like a twelve-year-old with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. "I know I'm a huge pain."

In a way, he is, but even when Clarke complains about him, she isn't really _mad_. It's not like she minds, so long as she--eventually--figures out what he's into. "You're a challenge," she says, and he snorts. "You are! You can ask Monty. I talk about you."

"Yeah? He never mentioned."

"I didn't tell him your name. But when he told me on the way over, I kind of guessed. There can't be that many Bellamys in the city."

"Yeah, I've never met another one." He cocks his head, studying her. "I wasn't sure how much you actually knew about me. You knew where I lived?"

"It's not like they're keeping people's identities a secret or anything. I noticed your address because you were local, but I know all my clients' names."

"And I really am more of a pain in the ass than usual? I always assumed I must be."

"You're--taking longer than some people."

"And you complain about me to Monty."

He's looking amused, and he's really cute, so she figures she can at least try to be endearing about the whole thing. "I get kind of competitive. It's a challenge for myself, you know, getting people to buy their whole whole box."

"So, I'm a really good challenge."

"I'm working on it." She looks him up and down, ostensibly to check what he's wearing, but mostly to check him out. She knew his general build and figured he must be in good shape, but it's different to see. The whole package is good, and he must look good in _everything_ he wears. Which just makes everything more confusing. "Are off-white button-downs and khakis your standard?"

He looks at himself too, as if he's reminding himself what he looks like. "Uh, yeah, kind of. I actually--" He rubs the back of his neck. "I make my own clothes, usually."

She actually feels her jaw drop. "You _make_ your clothes?"

"It's not that hard," he says, but his neck is a little flushed, like he knows that, hard or not, it's definitely weird. "My mom was a seamstress, she taught me how to sew. We always had spare fabric around, so--"

"So what changed your mind?" Monty slides her the cider, but she doesn't take her attention off Bellamy. "Why did you decide you needed more clothes?"

"For one thing, it's time-consuming. And the clothes I make are fine, but--pretty basic. I could do better."

"Is she trying to get you to sign up for online clothes delivery?" Monty asks. "Already?"

"Apparently she complains about me," Bellamy says. "I'm already signed up."

Monty looks about as surprised by the revelation as Bellamy did. "Wait, _Bellamy_ is your client who hates everything?"

"I don't hate everything," he grumbles. "I just don't like it enough to buy it."

"You know you're falling victim to the sunk-cost fallacy, right?" Monty asks, helpful as always. "You're not actually better off buying a piece of clothing you don't want to get value off of the twenty bucks."

Bellamy ducks his head. "I know. But, uh, I didn't want to be discouraging."

Fuck, he's cute. "You know I get paid either way, right? My salary isn't based on what percentage of the clothes you keep."

"I figured you probably got bonuses or something. And I thought they might think it was a you problem if I kept turning stuff down."

"I'm pretty sure everyone knows you're the problem, dude," says Miller, and Bellamy elbows him.

"Shut up. You don't need to be involved in this conversation."

"I don't," Miller agrees, and turns to Monty. "You said you were playing _Fire Emblem: Heroes_ , right?"

He definitely is, so that's going to keep them occupied. Which means Clarke is not only helping, but has Bellamy all to herself. "Okay, so you want more interesting clothes."

"Yeah. But, uh--I don't know, a lot of stuff just feels too flimsy to me. I tend to make stuff to last."

"Which is why you're always leaving feedback on construction issues I didn't notice and saying the fabric seems thin."

"But doesn't explain why you keep sending me stuff like that," he says, but he's smiling.

"Because you need the personal touch. Only cotton, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I like cotton."

She takes a sip of cider. "Since we're workshopping this, can I touch your shirt?"

"Sure," he says, offering his left arm. The shirt is soft and sturdy, loose enough to breathe--the kind of shirt she'd want to wear if she was going to be doing tough work for a while and didn't want her clothing to bother her.

"Good construction," she says.

"Thanks. Like I said, it's a pretty simple pattern. My technical skills are good, but I'm not much of a designer."

"So, when you say you want _more exciting_ , you're talking more--look."

"Look?"

"Fabrics and patterns you wouldn't use, not construction."

"Both, I guess. But yeah, I tend to be pretty conservative with color. I'm not really confident about--"

"He likes blue, black, and khaki," says Miller. "And off-white, but not too white, because he doesn't want to have to bleach it. You should work on that."

"His aversion to bleach?" She eyes Bellamy. "Those seem like good colors for him. Dark red might be good too, and green. I'm not thinking I should start going for orange. But I bet I could find some prints that work. The fabric quality is probably going to be the tricky part."

"Is this actually helping?" he asks, sounding a little dubious. "Should I have put _make my own clothes usually_ in my style guide?"

"Just talking to you is helping. And seeing you. I couldn't really figure out what your personal style looked like."

"Historical re-enactor," Miller supplies. "But, like, not one of the famous people. A field hand or something."

"Thanks," says Bellamy, dry as sand. "I know I'm, uh--honestly, I don't really know what I'm looking for. But I appreciate your help. And I like getting the boxes, it's fun. Even if I'm not very helpful."

"That just means it's going to be even better when I finally find stuff that you like," she says, and he laughs.

"Glad I'm enriching your life."

He has a nice laugh, and a nice face, and very impressive arms. And he's not planning to either leave the service or request a new stylist. They're--sort of--on the same side. They both definitely want the same thing.

"Incredibly," she says. "Next round's on me."

*

"So, how long before you hook up with my boss?" Monty asks.

"Your supervisor," Clarke corrects. "And who said I was hooking up with him?"

"Let's see, the way you were flirting with him, the way you kept checking him out, the way you couldn't stop touching him, the way he's really hot. I can keep going."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't hook up with him. I just don't think it's inevitable."

"You should just send him thong that says _do me_ ," Jasper advises.

"I don't know if that's actually an effective way to pick someone up," Monty muses. "Like, whose perspective do you read it from? Is he going to think he should do her, or that she's encouraging him to go out and pick someone up?"

"I don't really think I can send out a _do me_ thong in my professional capacity as his stylist."

"It's just a problem if he complains!" says Jasper, and Monty elbows him.

"Yeah, that's not how sexual harassment works. But you should do _something_. He asked about you."

She doesn't want to perk up, but of course she does. "What did he say?"

"Nothing huge," says Monty. "Don't get too excited. Just asked how long you'd been working there, if you were really cool with him being difficult, stuff like that. I think he really felt bad. But I worked in that you're single and bisexual."

She has to smile. "Thanks, appreciated."

"And he said he is too, so, seriously. How long before you hook up?"

"Depends on if he responds to my text soon," says Clarke, trying and definitely failing to keep a smug smile off her face. "I just asked him to go shopping!" she adds, before Monty can say anything.

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" asks Jasper. "Like, if you take him shopping, you're working against your own company."

Her phone buzzes with a text, and she sees Bellamy is, as she hoped, willing to go to the mall with her. "I'm taking him shopping so I can do better with his next box. That's good for business."

"And so you can hook up with him in a dressing room."

"You guys have way more exciting hookup ideas than I do," says Clarke. "I was just going to go to his place if he wanted to hook up." He wants to meet soon, so she flashes both of them a grin as she leaves the table. "I'll keep you posted."

Obviously, she isn't really _planning_ to hook up with Bellamy, in a dressing room or at his place or anywhere else. She wouldn't be opposed, in theory, but it doesn't have to be _today_. She doesn't really want to rush into it; she'd like to do this one right.

He meets her outside the mall in dark slacks and a loose blue t-shirt. The clothes fit him well and look good, but she can see why he's thinking he'd like something a little more adventurous.

"Have you ever tried wearing jeans?"

"I have trouble getting them to fit right. And I suck at making them. But I'm not opposed." He makes a face. "I don't really like clothes shopping."

"And yet here you are."

"I figured you wanted data. I don't have to buy anything, right? Just tell you what I like and don't like."

"Maybe try some things on. Just to see how they fit!" she adds, when his frown deepens. "You don't have to buy them. You don't even have to try them on, but if you're here anyway."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he grumbles, like it was a prolonged conversation where she made a lot of arguments and not her sending him a single text and him immediately agreeing. 

"You did hire me to help you with clothes," she points out instead, and he smiles.

"I did. And I appreciate, uh--sorry to complain that you're actually doing me a favor."

"It's not like _I_ hate shopping."

"Yeah, I assume you wouldn't, with your job. How do you end up as an online stylist, anyway?"

It's not a very long story, but it's enough to get them into the mall and semi-relaxed. Bellamy's clearly not totally comfortable, but Clarke thinks it has more to do with the crowd than anything, and it's not like she's particularly thrilled about the amount of people either. Crowds are the worst thing about malls, and part of why she got good at online shopping in the first place.

"So, this is why you never tried buying your own clothes?" she asks. "Aversion to malls and crowds?"

"I guess." He shrugs. "When I was a kid, I got made fun of, like--I was poor, I wore clothes my mom made for me, and I could either feel bad about it or decide I didn't. So I decided I didn't, wore it as a mark of pride. But now that I'm older--yeah, it would be nice if I felt like I knew where to start with--" He gestures around at the store.

"Okay, so--aside from the quality of the construction and the fabric, did you like the clothes I got you?"

"I couldn't tell. I wear, uh--there's that t-shirt with the kind of planet and a rocket on it you sent? I like that one. Most of them I just--" His smile is wry. "I keep them but I chicken out of wearing them."

"Chicken out?"

He sighs, running his hand along a row of bright shirts. "I got used to people not noticing what I was wearing. If I start wearing real clothes, they might notice again."

It's a new one for Clarke, and nothing she'd ever really thought of. She doesn't think of herself as a particularly adventurous dresser, but she's a confident one; she knows what looks good on her and how to coordinate an outfit, and when people comment on what she's wearing, it tends to be in a positive way. Not that she didn't have some periods of bad fashion in her life, but it was times when everyone was doing it, so it evened out. When she was making mistakes, she wasn't doing it alone.

"Okay," she says, looking through the jeans for a pair that will suit him. "Help me out. If they notice but say nice things, is that okay?"

He sighs. "I know this isn't a real problem."

"I'm not judging you. Just trying to help. As your personal stylist."

"If people notice I'm dressing differently, they'll think I wasn't happy with how I dressed before."

"You weren't."

He gives her a grudging smile. "Yeah, but I don't want anyone to know that. If they say nice things, it's saying bad things about my old clothes, and that sucks."

"Okay, in general, I don't advocate lying," she says, handing him a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, "but _my girlfriend bought it for me_ is a great, pretty neutral excuse for having new clothes if anyone asks."

He looks at the clothes in blank confusion. "You want me to put these on?"

"I did warn you."

"It's orange," he says, of the t-shirt.

"And?"

"And you told Miller you weren't going to dress me in orange."

"That wasn't a binding promise. Look, you want to know what I've _actually_ learned about dressing you from meeting you?"

"Desperately."

"You're going to look good in anything. Finding clothes for you--the problem is you liking them, not them flattering you. You would look hot in a burlap sack. You're going to look hot in those jeans and that t-shirt, I promise. I just want to go through how you would talk about it."

He opens his mouth, but doesn't manage to find words for a few seconds. "I feel like this is pretty far outside of your duties as my online stylist."

"I don't have to, but it seems like you could use the help."

"No, I meant--you don't have to do this. I'm not even paying you extra."

"If you were paying me it would probably be a conflict of interest. I told you, I don't _mind_. Try the clothes on."

Bellamy offers no further arguments, just goes into the dressing room. Clarke's pretty confident about the fit--after all, she knows his measurements like the back of her hand--but she's not actually sure what to say to a guy with this kind of weird clothing insecurity. He was kind of right, whether she minds doing this or not, it's outside of her actual expertise. She wants to help, but she doesn't even know if she can.

But she wants to. And that has nothing to do with her job.

"Okay, uh--good?"

Clarke's attention jerks away from the rack of jeans she's studying to see Bellamy, adorably nervous as he watches her. It's not like he looked bad before, but Clarke went for a tighter fit with the t-shirt than he usually favors, and the difference is immediate. His arms look bigger, his chest looks firmer, and the jeans are showcasing his thighs and--she's pretty sure--his ass in excellent ways.

"You should definitely buy both of those."

"Even the shirt?" he asks, frowning.

"Or other shirts that size. You're making your clothes too big."

"I thought you said they were good."

"Okay, the dress shirts are fine. But that t-shirt wasn't doing you nearly enough favors. How do you feel?"

"Self-conscious."

"Okay, so--who's going to ask you, if you wear this? I assume you're not wearing it to work. Are your friends going to be jerks about it?"

"Not jerks. Well, no more than usual. But they'll notice, and they'll mention it. Miller, my sister, pretty much everyone I know." He looks at her askance. "Does the girlfriend thing really work?"

She shrugs. "Just if you don't want to tell the truth. _I wanted to try something new_ is fine for most people. Or _I realized my ass looks great in jeans_."

"You haven't even seen my ass," he says, but when she gestures for him to turn around, he obliges, grinning.

"Your ass looks great in jeans."

"Thanks. I like them," he adds, sounding surprised about it. "They're pretty comfortable."

"How's the cut?" she asks, shifting her attention from how good he looks to more practical matters. "Style?"

"Fine? How many options do I have?"

Clarke grins. "As many as you're willing to try on."

His groan feels more amused than actually irritated. "Fine. Bring it on."

*

Bellamy leaves the mall with two pairs of jeans and a three-pack of cotton t-shirts that are going to look good on him. It's definitely just one small step, but it's a step she really thinks he'll take, which is better than a big step he won't.

She deliberately does not remind him to update his style profile with his new preferences, but that's a strategic play. After all, she needs an excuse to get in touch with him again.

"I haven't hooked up with your supervisor yet," she tells Monty, when she gets home. "But I'm totally going to."

"I guess I approve," he says, thoughtful. "He's hot, _someone_ should be hooking up with him. I'm glad it's going to be someone cool."

"Thanks for your blessing."

"Any time."

She gives it a week before she gets back in touch, just to not be weird. On Saturday, she asks if he wants to get coffee and check in on his fashion progress. As with the mall, he agrees without hesitation, and when she finds him at her favorite local spot, he's wearing one of his old t-shirts, but a pair of the new jeans. 

And he grins at the sight of her. That's the most important thing.

"Hey," she says. "Nice jeans."

"Thanks."

"No new shirt?"

"I'm working up to two new pieces of clothing together," he says. "Baby steps."

"Baby steps," she agrees. "How are the jeans going over?"

"Pretty well. My sister teased me, but I knew that was coming. She's been trying to convince me to embrace real fashion for years. As soon as she could afford it, she had a closet full of clothes that she didn't have to make herself, so she always thought I was being stubborn. Like I wasn't saving a ton of money _not_ buying designer shit."

"So what did you tell her about this?"

He clears his throat. "Well, uh--I realized I had a great excuse." When he doesn't go on, she nudges his foot with hers, and he ducks his head. "I told her I signed up for an online clothing subscription thing and sucked at it, but then I met my stylist and she was, uh--cute."

Clarke feels a grin spreading on her face. "That's what you came up with? Cute stylist?"

"If I said I had a girlfriend, she would have had about a thousand follow-up questions I couldn't answer. This seemed easier."

"Didn't she still have follow-up questions?"

"Yeah. But I could just tell the truth."

"So, you just let me buy you jeans because I'm cute?"

"And you were checking my ass out. I wanted you to keep doing that."

"I was already checking your ass out. The jeans just made it easier to see. Same with the t-shirt for your arms. And chest."

"So I should have worn one of the new shirts," he says. "If I wanted to flirt with you."

"All you actually need to do is flirt with me. Like I said, you're always hot." She pauses, nudges his foot again. "Please tell me you actually like the jeans and you didn't just buy them to try to pick me up. That's a total waste of money."

"No. But I liked the girlfriend excuse. I was hoping I could use it."

Clarke smiles into her coffee. "I bet you could."

*

"Okay, so--how bad is it going to be if I don't like anything in here?" Bellamy asks.

Clarke props her chin on his shoulder, looking at the unopened box in front of him. "I'm definitely going to break up with you immediately."

"I knew it."

She kisses his jaw. "Come on, I want to see. I honestly have no idea if you're going to want any of it."

"No?"

"I can't just give you nothing but plain t-shirts in earth tones."

"I don't see why not," he grumbles, but he's already opening up the box.

Clarke _is_ actually a little nervous; she and Bellamy have been dating for a little over a month, and his first delivery box feels like something of a test. Not that failing to figure out her very picky boyfriend's clothing preferences means they have to break up or anything, but she's _always_ wanted to rock this. If she'd been present for him opening any of his other boxes, she would have been just as invested.

Okay, _nearly_ as invested. Very close.

"If I don't nail this one, it's good data. You can be honest."

He pulls out the shirt she picked out first, an all-cotton button-down in pale green with small, white polka dots on it.

"Huh," he says.

"I think that would look really good with jeans. It's kind of a nice casual Friday look."

"I can see that."

She nudges her nose against his jaw. "You don't have to keep it."

"I'm not sure I will. But the fabric is good. I usually try on all the pieces I can together."

"Okay, well, you've got two pairs of pants and a blazer in there too. And a tie."

His eyebrows go up. "A tie?"

"Sometimes you need ties! You told me that. _I hate finding ties_. Direct quote."

"I think you're using privileged information outside of my style profile."

"I am, but it all technically fits with your style profile, so I'm following your guidelines."

He pulls out a pair of jeans. "You know I already have two pairs of jeans, right?" he asks, running his fingers over the stitches. "That's enough to cover the weekend, I don't actually need more."

"I know your office does casual Fridays, you let Monty wear video game t-shirts. Also, sometimes you have three-day weekends or vacations. And if you don't want to do laundry every week--"

"I forgot our end goal is that I'll have enough clothes for more than one week. That still feels like a lot."

Clarke laughs. "Baby steps, remember? Just take what you like, and before you know it you'll have two weeks' worth of clothes."

"Before I know it," he agrees, and goes to try on the clothes.

In the end, the shirt is too much for him and the slacks aren't enough of an improvement on the slacks he already owns, but he keeps the jeans, tie, and blazer, which is still enough to make her suspicious.

"Three things?"

"I'm still building up my jeans and tie collection," he says. "And the blazer is good to make stuff a little dressier if I need to."

"So you're not just taking these because I'm your girlfriend?"

He pauses for longer than she's entirely comfortable with. "Not _just_ because you're my girlfriend. But your vote matters a lot more now. You're the one I want to look good for."

"But you always look good, so--"

He ducks his head for a kiss. "So I'm not keeping the shirt, it's too pale. You can try again in a couple months."

She could still get reassigned, if her hit rate doesn't get better. But even if that happens, she can keep on dragging him to the mall. He is, after all, her boyfriend. He values her input.

"Looking forward to it."

His smile is all soft and perfect, warming Clarke down to her toes. It's nice, to feel like she wants to do better at this to make him happy too, now, not just to win. "Yeah, me too."


End file.
